Break a leg, break a heart
by YoungGlass
Summary: What happens when Brittany has an one night stand with Rachel in London. But again, wasn't Rachel supposed to be in New York that week?Also, wasn't Santana supposed to house-sit? The lives of a dancer, a bartender, an aspiring stand-up comedian, a diva and a journalist cross in the most unexpected way.


I tilt my head to the side and I dutifully study her beautiful features. We are both naked in my hotel's bed and the luxurious white bed sheet covers most of her body to my disappointment. Even though I just spend the better part of my evening getting acquainted to every inch of her smooth skin, I miss it already and that fabric separating her body from mine has became a nuisance. I roll my eyes and lightly shake my head at disproval of my own behavior. I am acting like such a loser. What is wrong with me, I ask myself. It is a weird sensation for me. I am used to one night stands and all that jazz that inevitably comes with this modern style of loving and relationships: plenty of false starts, flash relationships that succumb after a first fight, the uncommitted commitment of two people too focused on their own careers to slow down that fast paced lifestyle and appreciate someone else. I am guilty of the nonchalant posture towards the people I fuck and spend time with. I have over and over again treated these bodies as they are there mainly to give me orgasms, look good by my side at some work event and who I would occasionally take out to experiment with me a new flashy restaurant or some bar some of my friends told me about. They would come and go and all I would have left from them would be some fading memories and a contact number on my smart-phone. All these years doing the same thing over and over again and I never found myself wide-awake as the sun threatens to rise, after a hot and so incredibly satisfying lay, creepily studying the features of the person lying naked next to me and wishing they would wake up already so that I could I could look in those brown eyes again and do whatever it takes to get to know them better.

Sometime between then and the annoying buzzing of my alarm, I fall asleep. I could swear I was dreaming about a cute kitten called Harley and her. I came home to her, stray kitten in hands and she tried to be mad at me but as my eyes met the floor and I shuffled my feet promising to take the scrawny smelly kitten to a shelter, her body deflated and her eyes softened. Our eyes met in the profound gaze full of understanding and warmth her scowl disappearing from her beautiful face and all the worries about responsibilities and cat's skins diseases were put aside while she reached under the sink and took a small porcelain bowl from under it. I still had the kitten protectively against my chest when she walked towards me in the kitchen heading to the fridge to get some milk for the poor fur ball. As she passed me she slowed down only enough to raise herself on the tips of her toes and give me a sweet kiss on my nose. With her back now to me, she told me somehow trying to sound stern but completely failing this simple task that I would make damn sure to get a scratch post for the thing I brought home before she came home from work and that she better never find fur balls hidden amongst her shoes.

As I sit up on my bed dumbly smiling at the scenes of the dream that would just non-stop fill my mind. I love when I can remember my good dreams because it usually means I will spend the rest of day in a dandy mood. As I rub my eyes awake I notice how cold it is in the room. It makes me shiver a little. As I use my hands to pacify the goose bumps on my forearms, I search in my memories of last night the answers and I remember how she insisted in having a smoke after I had given her the second orgasm of the evening and how we had left the window open last night after, before she could finish her cigarette, she found my hands teasing the inside of her tights and her hand tightly clutching my hair while I teased her pebbled nipples with my teeth and tongue.

I let out a snarky laugh as I judge myself. I am being such an idiot. I haven't been in London for 2 weeks yet and I am acting like a lonely teenanger girl over a woman I have just met. I have been awake for no more than 10 minutes and I had thought of nothing but her and now find myself yearning for her skin on mine again. As I look around I notice that she is no longer sleeping next to me. I scan the room and I can't see her clothes or her oversized hobo bag either. Maybe she is still in the bathroom, I hope while I quickly grab one of my favorite sleeping t-shirts from a pile of crumbled clothes by the cream and gold Luis XIV armchair next to the bed. I put it on my old grey and ink blue raglan t-shirt, the one my dad bought me when we went to visit Juilliard during my senior year. I quickly check my hair at the mirror as I walk towards the bathroom door. It's messy in a cute sort of way and I quickly ponder whether it is too soon to be seen this vulnerable. I decide it is best to at least run my fingers trough my long blond locks, untying some of the knots here and there and giving it a style other than the scarecrow's hairdo I usually have when I wake up. I decide to leave my hair down rather than making the lazy bun I usually wear in the mornings hoping that the just fucked look will earn me some steamy morning sex before I have to head out to work.

I knock softly on the bathromm door once, twice, three times in quick succession before calling her name: "Rachel?"


End file.
